


Gingerbread

by Mrachna



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Incest, Parent/Child Incest, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-31 01:39:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12665646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrachna/pseuds/Mrachna
Summary: Fareeha isn’t sure exactly what she expected but what she sees doesn’t meet her expectation. The skin around the socket isn’t majorly damaged; apart from a few lighter patches of scarring against the otherwise brown skin. Ana’s eyelid is shut, muscles fluttering with the effort as her other eye moves to properly survey her daughter’s reactions.





	Gingerbread

**Author's Note:**

> This author’s note comes to you from me sitting on my kitchen counter waiting for dinner to cook; Pay attention to the tags, use your own judgement and click out if this isn’t your jam or if you think this might trigger or upset you.
> 
> Inspired by [Yatta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyatta) and our conversation about [this](http://78.media.tumblr.com/4c8d5a779fca93d7ba00d7443d4ced52/tumblr_oy8rxzyWBk1ubp4g4o1_540.png) image - if you’re into this pairing and you haven’t seen his fantastic fic [The Ghost Watches](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12097491), you really should check it out.
> 
> I have a [Tumblr](http://mrachna.tumblr.com), come and say hello!

“Mother, these gingerbread taste just how I remember them,” Fareeha says, snapping the arm off a gingerbread man and tossing it into the air, catching it between her parted lips with no difficulty. She waits until she has finished the mouthful before speaking. “Are you still using Grandma’s recipe?”

“Yes, dear.” Ana replies, eye focused on her daughter over the rim of the teacup she’s holding to her lips. She’s sitting in the corner of the large, red, l-shaped couch next to a red blanket that Mei had been comfortably curled up under earlier in the day.

“Mmmm,” Fareeha makes a noise of enjoyment, quickly stuffing the rest of it into her mouth and washing it down with a glass of milk; she likes tea - how could she not, with a tea addict for a mother - but some things just have to be had with milk. It’s how it’s always been. No matter where she was in the world, be it Egypt, Canada or Gibraltar, Ana had always made gingerbread cookies in the winter and Fareeha had always had them with milk.

There’s silence while Ana drinks. She always savors her cup of tea, considering it a few minutes out of her day where she can relax, de-stress and mull over her thoughts. She watches with a faint smile as her daughter picks up another gingerbread - Fareeha never could have just one, still like a greedy child with free access to the cookie jar. This time she dips it into the milk, dunking it head-first before she eats it.

Fareeha crosses the room in large strides, her long legs making it effortless for her to quickly bridge the gap between her mother and herself. She stands in front of Ana, looking down at her for a moment as Ana finishes her tea and puts the cup on the floor.

In one fluid movement Fareeha straddles Ana, settling comfortably into her lap.

They’re face to face, Ana’s one eye meeting Fareeha’s eyes as Fareeha’s brows knit. It occurs to her that she hasn’t seen her mother without the eyepatch since her return from the dead and suddenly she needs to see what’s been done to her beautiful mother’s face. There are small lines around Ana’s eyes and mouth, showing the years that have passed but doing nothing to lessen the beauty that Fareeha has always admired in one way or another.

Suddenly Fareeha’s chest feels tight with emotion. All she can look at is that black patch covering Ana’s previously cybernetically-enhanced eye. Ana may hold no resentment for the woman who hurt her so, but Fareeha can only wish she could dig within herself to find that same forgiveness and sympathy.

“I want to see.” Fareeha says in a voice barely louder than a whisper, her shaking hands cupping her mother’s cheeks. One thumb brushes over the rough fabric of the eye patch covering Ana’s damaged eye. Ana turns her face away in Fareeha’s grip.

“Fareeha, I-.”

“Mother. Please.” Her thumb is now resting below the patch, nail just barely dipping between it and the skin underneath. “Please.” Ana sighs but offers no further resistance and Fareeha slowly pulls back the covering.

Fareeha isn’t sure exactly what she expected but what she sees doesn’t meet her expectation. The skin around the socket isn’t majorly damaged; apart from a few lighter patches of scarring against the otherwise brown skin. Ana’s eyelid is shut, muscles fluttering with the effort as her other eye moves to properly survey her daughter’s reactions.

“Well?” Ana questions, “do you like that you see?” There’s an undernote of bitterness in her voice and Fareeha just wants to kiss her but recognizes Ana’s need to have her question answered.

“Of course; I just thought it would be worse.” Fareeha murmurs her answers, gently stroking the pad of her thumb against the hollow under her mother’s eye. Ana slowly opens her eyelid and although shocked, Fareeha isn’t disgusted at the pale pink tissue beneath.

“The doctors filled it in, but it’s near impossible to get a prosthetic when you’re in hiding. They already had enough questions about the cybernetic one.” She hums thoughtfully, “although now I have the option to get another.”

Fareeha shifts, fingers tracing the udjat under Ana’s left eye before she wraps her arms around her mother in a fierce hug, pressing her face into the bare skin that was just like her own in so many ways. The tickling brush of her hair makes Ana shiver and return the hug tenderly, hands resting against the small of Fareeha’s back.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Her voice is muffled but her meaning is clear; they both know she has a lot of pain to work through and she is, in her own way. Fareeha had thought that she would never see Ana again and absence, the gap of her mother’s presence in her life had only made her heart grow fonder. 

They have so much lost time to make up for.

Ana’s response is to press a soft, reassuring kiss against her daughter’s cheek. Almost immediately, Fareeha turns her face to catch her lips in a kiss that’s more than reassuring.

Pulling away a little, Fareeha starts to pepper kisses all over Ana’s face, taking particular care around her missing eye.

“Darling,” Ana speaks in Arabic, “I love you.”

“I - love - you - too.” Her reply is in English and each word is punctuated with a kiss, first on the forehead followed by each of her cheeks and finishing on her mouth. It doesn’t take long at all for the kiss to get heated, Fareeha’s fingers deftly undoing her mother’s plait and letting her soft grey hair fall down her shoulders.

Their bodies are pressed together as they kiss, chest to chest and nose to nose. It’s Ana who deepens the kiss, slowly parting her mouth to pull Fareeha’s bottom lip into it, the barest brush of teeth over her soft flesh. Pharah’s breath stutters in her chest and her mouth goes slack, her own tongue meeting Ana’s causing a jolt of arousal to coil in her stomach.

As they make out, Ana drags her hands around Fareeha’s body to slide up her sweater and rest on her hips with a firm but not rough grip. For a few minutes that’s how they are; together in the large corner of the oversized couch with their lips on one another’s and their breaths mingling.

It’s Fareeha who breaks the moment, breathing hard as she starts to trail tiny nips - not hard enough to bruise, never hard enough to truly hurt - down Ana’s throat, starting just below her ear and ending up in the hollow of her collarbone.

“Fareeha, baby, sit back.” When Ana speaks, she puts the hint of a push into her hands on Fareeha’s hips and her daughter moves easily, swinging her leg around and off her. She sits with her back against the couch and her legs straight, stretched out and barely touching Ana’s on the huge - it has to be, to fit Reinhardt - couch. 

Ana turns her body slightly, hips pressing hotly against the side of Fareeha’s thigh and she stretches out to grab the patterned blanket that is just within her reach. It takes her no time at all to drag it over them and even less time for one of her hands to slide back up Fareeha’s sweater. She doesn’t remove her daughter’s bra, opting instead to pull the cups out of the way to free the swell of her breasts. Fareeha’s nipples press against the wool of her sweater for a moment before Ana’s fingers touch one of them. She teases the hard peak, lightly brushing the calloused pads of her fingers over it before pinching hard and twisting it in a way that makes Fareeha’s back arch to push further into her hand.

“Always so needy, baby. Patience is a virtue.” Ana murmurs into Fareeha’s shiny, black hair before chuckling a little.

“Momma!” Fareeha exclaims, embarrassed. While she usually refers to Ana as ‘Mother’ in the presence of others, when they’re fucking it’s always ‘Momma’. It’s the side of her that’s reserved just for Ana, for the woman she loves in a way that goes far beyond purely familial and platonic and crosses into forbidden romantic territory. Her love for Ana burns fiercely, it’s all-consuming and leaves little time for the guilt that she sometimes wonders if she should feel for breaking such a huge societal taboo.

Ana keeps pinching, Fareeha’s breath coming in short puffs until Ana lets go of her nipple and the rush of blood and sensation back into it makes her whimper. She repeats it with the other nipple before letting her fingertips dance down Fareeha’s stomach, little fluttering touches that have Fareeha squirming. Ana doesn’t linger too much, fingers deftly sliding down underneath the waist of Fareeha’s jeans and damp panties to gently tickle against her skin through the dark, neatly trimmed thatch of her pubic hair.

Fareeha kisses her again, their teeth clacking together as their tongues dance in a heated tangle. Ana bites Fareeha’s bottom lip and Fareeha’s exhale rushes out against their faces. It’s a messy kiss and neither of them care, caught up in the moment. 

Ana’s hand moves lower, fingers carefully pressing past her labia to swirl around Fareeha’s sensitive clit, causing her hips to jerk in response. Ana doesn’t do that for long, quickly switching to rubbing over it with her fingertips. They both wish she could move her hands better to do more, but neither of them want to deal with the risk of someone catching them with Fareeha’s pants down - literally.

Fareeha’s face is flushed, eyelids fluttering shut as she breaks the kiss to rest her forehead against Ana’s shoulder and muffle her moans in the fabric of her sweater. With a little difficulty in the confined space, one of Ana’s fingers press against Fareeha’s wet, needy hole with only a little difficulty of the confined space of her pants.

“Please.” Fareeha begs for the second time that day, in Arabic this time. Ana does nothing, keeping her finger still and her palm positioned just so that it presses -barely- on Fareeha’s clit. Fareeha’s brows meet as she opens her large, chocolate-brown eyes to meet Ana’s gaze. “Please, momma, pl-” She’s cut off as Ana easily slides one finger inside her up to the knuckle, curving it upwards to drag against her sensitive g-spot as she pulls it out again to quickly add another one.

They’re both so turned on; neither of them _wanting_ to get caught but having the knowledge that they could be spurning them on. It makes the heat, the fire of arousal in their bellies burn hotter, harder and faster like a wildfire ready to take them over and burn them both to the ground together like this, as one.

Fareeha is trying her best to keep quiet, unaccustomed to having to do so thanks to her soundproofed Captain’s quarters. She wants to moan loudly and openly, to rip their clothes off and straddle Ana to ride her fingers.

Ana’s palm presses against Fareeha’s clit as she fingers her. It feels like she pushes harder every time Fareeha’s hips rock forwards to encourage those fingers inside her to go just a little bit deeper. Ana knows exactly how to wind her up; get her hot and desperate like nobody else ever has before.

Then the doorknob rattles, and Pharah freezes. 

When the door opens and Hana strolls in, she goes limp as she makes the snap decision to pretend to be asleep. It’s a difficult thing to do when there are two fingers in her pussy but the fear of getting caught makes it a damn sight easier.

Ana catches on to Fareeha’s plan as she casually greets Hana with a wave of her free hand, before pointing to Fareeha and making a shushing gesture. Hana shoots her a cheerful thumbs up as she crosses the room to steal a handful of the leftover gingerbread men then rummage in the fridge.

Fareeha can’t hear anything over the pounding in her ears and the small wet noises her cunt makes as her mother’s fingers fuck in and out of her, slowly and deeply. She feels like D.Va must be able to hear her; there’s no way the room doesn’t reek of sweat and lust and sex. She’s glad for the years of military training that have sharpened her senses, her hearing keen enough that she’s able to tell that Hana isn’t all that close to her.

It’s difficult to keep her hips still; it’s even more difficult to not make noises to let Ana know how much she loves being touched by her like this.

She almost reacts with a gasp when Ana nonchalantly adds another finger, fucking her open with three fingers now as she picks up the pace. Her wrist is statue still, despite the fact that she’s filling Fareeha so well and touching all the right spots, both inside and outside of  
her greedy cunt.

As all three of Ana’s fingers press crushingly hard against Fareeha’s g-spot and her eyes roll back behind closed lids. Her fingers curl back and forth in a way that makes her daughter’s legs tremble despite how much she is trying to stay still. All Fareeha can do is take it and say a silent prayer that Hana won’t notice.

Hana doesn’t; unbeknownst to Fareeha she has absolutely no interest in the two women on the couch as she pours herself a glass of soda. As she leaves the room, she walks with light footsteps that make almost no sound, it’s only the slamming of the door shutting itself behind her that lets her know that D.va has left them alone once more.

Fareeha is panting into Ana’s shoulder, far closer to cumming than she had realized she was when they’d had company, for all that she had been focussed on was hiding her pleasure rather than feeling it.

“Momma,” she breathes, letting her body take over to ride the wave of pleasure. Her own hands find their way to the of the crotch of Ana’s jeans, pressing and rubbing at her Momma’s sex through the seam, her hand trapped against the heat between Ana’s legs and her own strong thigh. Ana leisurely rolls her hips, taking the pleasure that she’s being given easily, her fingers speeding up. She knows Fareeha’s close to climax - Ana knows her daughter’s body as well as her own. 

When Fareeha comes, it’s not quiet. She tries to speak through moans, to beg Ana not to stop and tell her that she loves her but she can’t, too caught up in riding the crest of her orgasm to speak. Her pussy does the talking for her, clenching with tight, wet heat as slick gushes out of her to make even more of a mess in her panties and on Ana’s fingers. Fareeha’s own fingers, the ones that aren’t touching Ana, grasp and flex into the blanket covering her, knuckles white from the tightness of the grip that she has on it.

“Momma.” Fareeha says admiringly as soon as she can catch her breath. She hopes it expresses what she wants it to - ‘thank you,’ ‘I love you’, and mostly, ‘I need you - don’t leave me again.’

“It’s okay, - ah - baby.” Ana’s words are cut off in the middle by the noise that falls involuntarily past her lips as Fareeha continues to touch her through her jeans. Ana always preferred indirect clitoral contact, far too oversensitive to stand fingers touching her without some sort of barrier.

Ana pulls her hands free from Fareeha’s pants, shoving them into Fareeha’s mouth unceremoniously. Fareeha immediately licks, the taste of her own pussy on her momma’s fingers enough to send another bolt of arousal through her, despite having just cum.

Her hips move rhythmically and easily, rocking between the soft, plush sofa and Fareeha’s eager fingers. Fareeha cups one of Ana’s breasts through the comfortable bra that she wears, often settling for function over style and this is no exception. Time has worked against her body here, too; breasts no longer full and plump when she removes her underclothes, but soft and hanging, nipples low and large. It doesn’t put Fareeha off; she loves every inch of the body that birthed her; from every hair on Ana’s head to the tip of her painted toenails. Ana’s body shows what she’s endured and survived, and even if she wanted to, Fareeha couldn’t find anything to complain about.

Her momma is far from conventionally perfect, but she is perfect for Fareeha and that’s what matters to her.

Fareeha’s hand on her mother’s breast gropes, not gentle but nowhere near the bruisingly rough grip that she herself prefers. Ana’s chest is rising and falling with heavy breaths, near silent as she chases her own orgasm. Ana’s thighs clench, trapping Fareeha’s hand in place against the heat between her legs as her hips speed up, Fareeha barely even moving her fingers and letting her momma take what she needs from her.

“Darling,” Ana breathes out in Arabic as she cums, pulling her fingers free from Fareeha’s full, reddened lips as her chest heaves and her thighs clench so tightly that Fareeha can’t move her hand at all. Fareeha kisses her neck throughout, suckling just enough to leave a faint reddened mark on the delicate, brown skin that will fade within minutes and wouldn’t be enough to give them away, should they bump into any of their colleagues in the hallway.

There’s a comfortable silence as Ana stretches, lazy and relaxed after her orgasm. Fareeha flexes her fingers to shake out the beginnings of a cramp as she pulls her hand from under the blanket. Fareeha is first to break the silence with a small laugh.

“I can’t believe that you didn’t stop when Hana came in.” Her voice is low, enjoying the peace of them enjoying an afterglow together. Ana raises an eyebrow.

“We both know you loved it.” Fareeha opens her mouth to protest but shuts it promptly without speaking as her cheeks flush, not making any effort to protest her mother’s words useless. “Oh, my baby,” Ana cups Fareeha’s cheek tenderly, “I know you too well for you to deny it.”

Fareeha pouts, sticking her plump upper lip out and Ana laughs, tracing it with one of her fingertips and enjoying the way that her daughter shivers slightly and parts her lips automatically.

“Come on,” Ana moves a little, gently nudging Fareeha’s knees as she drags the blanket off them. “Let’s continue this somewhere more private.”


End file.
